There are just some things that every guy should do.
If a car breaks down, regardless of the man’s personal knowledge of mechanics, he should pop open the hood and take a look inside. The same goes for a passing knowledge of specific athletic events, including curling, but above all else, making breakfast.
Most can say that their father makes the best omelets, silver dollar pancakes or some other breakfast delicacy. There is no exception in my parents’ kitchen. My dad is the sultan of the spatula, flipping flapjacks until they are fluffy and a shade of brown that matches the desired skin pigment of post spring break co-eds.
Eggs scrambled or over-easy can be made to order in moments and without hesitation as bacon splatter dots the stovetop.
The mornings, which are often closer to the early afternoon hours, succeed into an eventful evening, and we college aged-men hone our craft in the kitchen or refine our palates with a variety of menu items from restaurants or diners that boast bottomless cups of coffee brewed with magic to make it taste better than coffee made at home. All of this in the unwitting preparation for when our skills would be put to the test by the toughest panel of judges: our friends and family.
Surely cavemen were grateful for the day they were finally able to toast their bread over the fire before mashing eggs, bacon and cheese between them into a breakfast sandwich.
Of course, in this age where we fight for equality between the sexes, it is perfectly acceptable for a woman to spend her morning hours before a waffle iron. But a man should not be a stranger to the delicate grace needed to properly fold an omelet and stand back quietly as the chomping of jaws and squeaking of forks and knives intones a pleasant “thanks.”